


The Curious Case of the Cat in the Nighttime

by ImpishTubist



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:52:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's goddaughter brings him a very important case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of the Cat in the Nighttime

**Author's Note:**

> Title blatantly ripped off of the quote in ACD's "Silver Blaze" (and then slightly altered). Victor Trevor is a character from ACD canon and appeared in "The Adventure of the 'Gloria Scott.'"

Contrary to popular belief, it actually wasn’t often that one of Sherlock’s experiments got so out of hand that it threatened his life or the flat. He was a trained scientist, after all, and knew the ins and outs of proper experimental procedure.

 

That did mean, however, that when one of his experiments went wrong, it went _ghastly_ wrong, because it was an outcome that even Sherlock hadn’t managed to predict. They’d had to evacuate Baker Street once already this year, and of course it had been in the dead of winter. Victor still hadn’t quite forgiven Sherlock for that one.

 

Sherlock’s latest disaster of an experiment was so vile that they couldn’t simply throw it in the bin and be done with it. Victor had to stuff the remains of it in several different bags and take it to the bins outside, and even then he wasn’t sure that the offensive material wouldn’t eat through the metal. Still, once it was outside the building it was distinctly not his problem anymore.

 

Victor padded down the stairs barefoot. He went outside, heedless first of the cold stones on the path and then of the scratchy grass he had to walk on to get to the bins. It was nearing summertime in London, and the fact that it wasn’t frigid out felt heavenly to him. He disposed of the mess, slammed the bin shut, and hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass later.

 

“Uncle Victor?”

 

Victor froze on his way back into their building and turned around. There was a little girl standing on the path, her blonde hair mussed and her face blotchy, and he gaped at her.

 

“Nikki?” Victor blinked, thrown. It took a second to register that he was _actually_ seeing his goddaughter standing in front of him, dressed in alarming pink trousers and a purple shirt, her white backpack stuffed full to bursting. He glanced up and down the street, but John and Mary were nowhere to be seen, so he dropped to one knee to look her in the eye. “Sweet pea, what are you doing here?”

 

“I need to see Uncle Sherlock.” Nikki looked distressed. Her hair had fallen loose from her ponytail and there were dried tear tracks on her face, but her voice was clear and firm. “Is he here?”

 

“He’s upstairs,” Victor said. He reached out and cupped her face. “Are you hurt?”

 

Nikki shook her head. “No. I just need to see Uncle Sherlock.”

 

Victor knew exactly where she got that single-mindedness from, and it wasn’t her parents. He gave a faint smile that he hoped was reassuring and said, “Of course. Come on, let’s go see him.”

 

He led the way up the stairs, NIkki trotting along after him. When he reached the landing, he turned to her and said, “Wait here until I can get Rufus in his cage, okay?”

 

She nodded solemnly. Rufus was still getting used to his new home, and the puppy had a habit of taking a flying leap at anyone who dared open the door. This was all well and good if it was an adult male, but he could easily bowl Nikki over with his exuberance.

 

Victor slipped quickly into the flat and shut the door just in time. Rufus gave a tremendous series of barks and came flying at him. Victor caught the puppy in midair and carried him into the kitchen.

 

“Sorry, pup, you need to go in here for a bit until you calm down,” Victor said. Sherlock looked up from his microscope.

 

“Why are you putting him away?” he asked, apparently content to simply watch Victor struggle with getting the dog inside his cage.

  
“Because we have a visitor,” Victor grunted. He finally got Rufus inside and shut the door, latching it closed. “Nikki’s here, all by herself. I don’t know why, but she’s demanding to see you. She looks pretty upset.”

 

Sherlock got up from his chair and went to retrieve their goddaughter. “Text John and Mary.”

 

“Already on it,” Victor said as he dug his mobile out of his pocket. He saw then that he had missed five calls in the past twenty minutes - three from John and two from Mary. He sent a quick message to the two parents - _Nikki is safe with us. Sherlock is investigating_. The flat’s door opened and closed, and he looked up as he slid the phone away. “Hey, baby girl. Do you want some water?”

 

Nikki trailed after Sherlock into the kitchen, and she wordlessly shook her head. “I want to sit in the chair.”

 

“Of course,” Victor said, reaching for a chair, but Nikki shook her head again.

 

“No. I want to sit in the chair.” She pointed out into the living room. “Where Uncle Sherlock’s cust’mers sit.”

 

Victor and Sherlock exchanged a quick glance, and then Sherlock nodded. “Of course. Come along, Miss Watson.”

 

Nikki shrugged out of her backpack and then hopped onto the wooden straight-backed chair. Sherlock sat down in his usual seat, sinking into the old cushions and crossing his right ankle over his left knee. Victor sat on the sofa, slightly removed from the scene.

 

“I assume you have a case for me,” Sherlock said briskly, slipping easily into potential client mode.

 

“Yes, Uncle Sherlock,” NIkki said solemnly. “And I don’t have any money, but I brought you this.”

 

She handed over her backpack, and Sherlock opened it to reveal a handful of her stuffed animals. Victor lifted an eyebrow at him, and Sherlock shrugged.

 

“Mama says you take valu’ble things,” Nikki explained. “Those are my valu’bles.”

 

Sherlock’s mouth twisted as he set the bag down, and Victor felt his heart clench. This was serious, then. Those were Nikki’s favourite toys.

 

Nikki pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of her pocket and held it out. Sherlock took it from her and opened it up.

 

“I need you to find Chester,” she said seriously.

 

It took Victor a moment to place the name. John and Mary had adopted a cat not long after Nikki was born. He had been at least six or seven when they got him, and had taken to living in a house with a baby fairly well. That cat had let Nikki do everything to him - grab his tail, pick him up and carry him around the house, even nap on him. He had mellowed out even more in his old age, and whenever Victor and Sherlock went over to the Watson household for dinner, Chester was invariably sleeping on the sofa.

 

Sherlock looked up from the photograph, frowning. “Chester is missing?”

 

Nikki nodded. “He always comes and sleeps with me, but he didn’t last night. And then he wasn’t there when I got up this morning, either.”

 

“I see,” Sherlock said thoughtfully. “Does Chester ever go outside?”

 

Now Nikki’s eyes began to well with tears. “Sometimes. But he _always_ comes back at night. He never stays outside that long. What if he was all alone last night, and scared, and he didn’t know where I was?”

 

“Hush,” Sherlock said soothingly. He dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped Nikki’s cheeks before pressing the fabric into her hands. She clutched it like a lifeline. “Cats are very smart. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this. Are your parents looking for him?”

 

Nikki nodded, looking sullen. “Daddy went out and called his name for ages last night, but he didn’t come. And Mama put out some food on the porch, too, but he still didn’t come back. What if he’s lost forever?”

 

“Miss Watson, you are jumping to conclusions,” Sherlock said gently. “There is no need for that yet. Tell me something, does Chester like to watch birds?”

 

Nikki scrunched up her nose while she considered this. She looked so much like her mother when she did that.

 

“Yeah,” she decided finally. “He likes to sit by the window and watch ‘em. Sometimes he even tries to catch ‘em when he’s outside, but he’s too slow. He’s a fat cat.”

 

Victor morphed his chuckle into a cough and passed his hand over his mouth. Sherlock’s eyes were twinkling in amusement.

 

“I see,” he said. He pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand. “Come along, Miss Watson. I believe I may have cracked your case.”

 

They were in a cab less than five minutes later. While Nikki was occupied with looking out of the window, Victor turned to Sherlock and murmured, “You’re good, love, but even you can’t deduce the behaviour of a _cat_.”

 

“I know,” Sherlock said in an undertone. “Lucky for us, my parents used to own one. I know what they’re capable of.”

 

“O-kay,” Victor said slowly. He shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

 

When they arrived at John and Mary’s house, Mary hurried out and greeted them on the path.

 

“Sweetie, what were you thinking?” she asked, kneeling in front of Nikki and cupping her face. “We were scared to death!”

 

“I needed Uncle Sherlock’s help right away,” Nikki said resolutely. “He’s gonna help us find Chester.”

 

Mary looked up at Sherlock, a stricken expression on her face. “Oh, Sherlock -”

 

“I know what I’m doing,” he said, and strode into the house.

 

Victor gave a long-suffering sigh. “Of course you do.”

 

They ran into John in the foyer as he was on his way out to greet them, and Sherlock said, “I need to see your living room.”

 

He then brushed past John without waiting for him, and Victor met John’s gaze and shrugged. The nice thing about the Watsons was that Victor never had to apologise to them for Sherlock’s abruptness. They understood Sherlock just as well as he did.

 

By the time they all gathered in the living room, Sherlock had shrugged out of his coat and stripped off his shirt. Victor spared a moment to appreciate the hard lines of muscle across his partner’s back as Sherlock’s shoulders flexed, and then Sherlock had removed the grate in front of the fireplace and disappeared up into the chimney.

 

“What the hell -” John started, but he was cut off by the sound of a tremendous yowl, followed by a grunt from Sherlock.

 

“Chester!” Nikki exclaimed. A moment later, the soot-covered cat dropped into the ashes of the fireplace and stood frozen for a moment, trembling, his yellow eyes wide.

 

“Oh, you poor thing!” Mary grabbed a towel from the kitchen and wrapped Chester up in it before carrying him to the bathroom, Nikki on her heels.

 

“Need a hand there?” Victor asked Sherlock’s legs.

 

It took some doing, but eventually Sherlock was able to work free of the chimney and step out of the fireplace. Victor fetched a wet flannel from the kitchen and handed it to him, and Sherlock wiped off his face and chest as best he could.

 

“Right, explain,” John said, crossing his arms.

 

Sherlock shrugged. “He’s a fat cat who likes to watch birds, according to your daughter. I noticed a bird’s nest being constructed near the chimney the last time we were over. It would stand to reason that by now the birds have hatched and are probably causing a ruckus. Chester probably got curious and tried to follow the sounds up the chimney, and got stuck on an outcropping of bricks partway up. You should have that thing cleaned, by the way. It’s foul.”

 

“How did he get past the grate, though?” Victor asked.

 

“It was unusually cold two nights ago. John and Mary likely had a fire and forgot to close the grate after. One of them remembered it later on, after Chester had gone up the chimney.”

 

“What a stupid cat,” John muttered. Victor laughed. “I owe you one, though, mate. She was inconsolable this morning. Almost couldn’t even get her to school. God only knows how she made it to Baker Street in one piece.”

 

“Let’s be thankful that she did. She’s a resourceful one, just like someone else I know.” Victor winked at Sherlock.

 

"Uncle Sherlock!" They all turned around at the exuberant shout, and Nikki dashed across the room and threw herself into Sherlock's arms. He hoisted her up and set her on his hip, even though she was almost getting too big for that now. She hugged him around his neck and said, "Thank you for finding him."

 

"Anything for you," Sherlock said. He squeezed her tightly and kissed her on the forehead before setting her down. "And you should keep your valuables. I think they would be very lonely in Baker Street without you."

 

Nikki hugged him around the waist again and then scampered off to help her mother finish cleaning Chester. Victor clapped Sherlock on the shoulder and said, “Come on, let’s get you home. You need a bath.”

 

Sherlock pulled his shirt and coat back on and leered at him. “Only if you join me.”

  
John groaned and swiftly kicked them out of his house.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a [headcanon post](http://impishtubist.tumblr.com/post/95940783110/i-want-fic-where-little-watson-runs-away-from-home) I put on Tumblr a little while ago. Inspired by the fact that I had an uncle whose cat did this once. Slowly but surely trying to break through some nasty writer's block with silly ficlets, so don't take this one too seriously.


End file.
